


Hold Me Down, Hold Me Close

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dom!Washington, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Established polyamoury, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub!Tucker, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, Tucker gets this itch under his skin. Like a buzz, a skittishness. A hum of something out-of-tune somewhere he can’t reach. It usually comes out as an urge to push his luck, a day where he runs his mouth a little more. In the past, these used to be the days that would end in getting screamed at by Church, getting threatened by someone within an inch of his life, in screaming matches with Wash that could be heard across the canyon.</p>
<p>Nowadays, now that they’re doing this thing, now that they’re the Three of them, it doesn’t end that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Down, Hold Me Close

Some days, Tucker gets this itch under his skin. Like a buzz, a skittishness. A hum of something out-of-tune somewhere he can’t reach.

It usually comes out as an urge to push his luck, a day where he runs his mouth a little more. In the past, these used to be the days that would end in getting screamed at by Church, getting threatened by someone within an inch of his life, in screaming matches with Wash that could be heard across the canyon.

Nowadays, now that they’re doing this thing, now that they’re the Three of them, it doesn’t end that way.

Nowadays, when he gets the itch, when he needs to push too hard, he’s got someone to put him back in his place, someone to quiet that uneasy buzz and keep him still. Two someones.

Right now, though, only one of them’s home.

Wash catches him by the hair, grips roughly (but not too roughly, he always knows where the line is) and drags the smaller man back against his body, Tucker’s back pressed against his chest. Tucker hisses in pain, fights against him, but it’s no use. Wash’s holding him secure.

“You little shit,” he growls in Tucker’s ear. “You don’t know when to fucking quit, do you?”

“Hell, no,” Tucker snaps back. His eyes are shut tight, too aware of the sharp points of contact from Wash’s fingers tight in his hair, the heat from where he’s held back against him. He’s fighting not to arch back into Wash. It’s too fucking early to just give it all up, he’s not that easy (he’s totally that easy).

Wash keeps his grip on his hair, one arm bent behind his back as he marches him to the bedroom. He leaves the door open.

“This a public show, Wash?” Tucker snarks.

“Kaikaina gets home in an hour,” Wash says. “If I’m not done with you then, she can watch.”

Wash runs the hand on his chest down, possessively dragging down the planes of his body. Tucker’s belt is dealt with a few efficient pulls, thrown it away. Guess they won’t be using that today. The rest of his clothes are removed just as quickly, leaving him exposed in the middle of the room. Wash is still fully clothed. Tucker glances at the third drawer in the bedside table, where they keep the cuffs, the restraints.

“We’re not using the cuffs today,” Wash says, following his gaze.

“What?” Tucker asks. “Dude, why not?”

“Because,” Wash says. “You _like_ the cuffs. They make it easy. I’m not going to make this easy on you.”

Tucker’s breath catches in his throat, and he’s sure Wash felt that. That little thrill of anticipation fluttering in his stomach is now a full hum, but it’s a good hum this time. No cuffs, no ropes means one of two things. Either Wash is gonna make him follow orders…. or hold him down himself.

Somehow, his cock finds a way to get even harder at the thought.

Wash doesn’t let him dwell on that thought long, shoves him down roughly, face first into the mattress. Broad palms cup his hips and yank, pushing his ass in the air.

“Color?” he demands.

Tucker pants, tries to get himself a little back under control. Wash’s hand returns to and tightens in his hair.

“Color?” he insists.

“Green,” Tucker chokes out. “Green, okay?”

“Good,” Wash says. “Now, the rules.”

“Fuck the rules,” Tucker retorts before he can think about it.

Wash’s hand closes on the back of his neck again, a quick shove of his face into the sheets, holding him down. Tucker clenches his teeth against the urge to moan.

“Nice try,” Wash says. “You’re not getting spanked today either. You like it too much.”

“You suck.”

“Not getting any of that either.”

Tucker blows out a frustrated breath, falls silent. Pretends the hum, the shiver of anticipation hasn’t settled in his chest like a living thing. Pretends he isn’t on edge, waiting, eager, for whatever Wash does next.

“Rule one,” Wash says. “Don’t you dare fucking move from where I put you. Do you understand?”

Tucker grunts an assent. So he’s stuck in this position, then, but there’s some room for movement.

He lifts his head, looks back at Wash.

“That’s allowed,” Wash says. “But here—“ His palms cup his hips again, thumbs resting in the dip of the small of his back, sliding down over his ass to curl around his thighs. His touch is possessive against Tucker’s skin. “Here, you stay still. Got it?”

Tucker turns back lets his forehead rest against the sheets. Fuck, he might have an idea where this is going. _Fuck._

He nods.

“Rule two,” Wash says. “You don’t come until given permission.”

Tucker nods again.

“Good.”

Wash strokes up and down his spine, tracing the arch, follows the curve of his hips around, fingers dragging down his iliac crest until their curving around the base of his dick to find that Tucker’s hard, all the way hard.

“Hadn’t even touched you yet,” Wash teases.

“Like you fucking aren’t hard,” Tucker retorts. “Like you wouldn’t be if it were you.”

Wash huffs another quiet laugh.

“True,” he concedes. “Now. What to do with you.”

Like he hasn’t already decided. Tucker knows better than that. But the pretending is nice, Tucker stripped on the bed, ass in the air, just waiting until Wash decides what he wants to do to him. It’s a really nice thought.

Wash retreats, heads for the second drawer. Tucker waits impatiently.

The first touch of a lube slick, latex covered finger at his rim makes him suck in a deep breath. God, he just wants it inside him already, but he knows better than to bear down. Wash’s other hand is warm, uncovered, on his hip.

“Color?” Wash asks.

Tucker rolls his eyes.

“Green.”

The first press of a finger inside makes Tucker grin into the bedsheets around the stretch. He’s almost sorry he can’t watch, he’s got such a thing for Wash’s hands. Wash’s hands were made for this, and you can’t tell Tucker any different.

The pace Wash sets is maddeningly slow. Thorough. Deep. Long slides so precisely timed it’s almost the anticipation that’s worse, the spaces between seconds when you know what’s coming, but it just isn’t there yet. The fleeting moments when Wash’s fingers brush the deep, good spots before sliding away again, in and out. In and out.

Tucker grits his teeth. He’s supposed to stay still, but fuck, this is driving him insane.

“C’mon,” Tucker says. “I can take more than that.”

“I don’t care,” Wash says, easy.

“What’s the matter, Wash?” Tucker sneers, voice thick with frustration. “That all you got?”

“No,” Wash replies. “It isn’t.”

That sounds like a promise. But his pace doesn’t change at all.

Two beats in, two beats out, a fractionary linger as he presses deepest, knuckles brushing against Tucker’s rim.

Tucker closes his eyes, tension coiled in him, so tight, spine a long tense or arch of determination not to bear down, not to just take. He tries to just lets himself drift in it, in the not-enough, sheer slow-constancy of it. Long drags, stretching him open. He almost misses it when Wash adds a second finger, when he eventually adds a third, the pace not hesitating or losing rhythm at all.

Tucker’s breath shakes out of him in time with each press deep, impossibly deep, the touch lingering barely long enough to set off a spark before retreating, even. Not enough, the touch not lingering long enough, not fast enough, but too sure to be a tease, too definite to be a tease.

Christ, Wash is going to make him beg for it. Much longer of this and he’ll beg, he won’t be able to help it.

“I could just do this,” Wash murmurs against his skin. “Might not fuck you at all. Just keep this up, see how many fingers you can take. Keep doing this until you come, never give you my cock at all. ”

The whine that tears its way out of Tucker’s chest is in no way voluntary.

“Don’t like that?” Wash asks, pressing another biting kiss against his spine. “Too bad.”

He slides his fingers free, slides one lube-slick thumb against his asshole, circling with just the lightest pressure. A mind-cracking tease where he’s already hypersensitive, and Tucker closes his eyes and shakes. He almost misses Wash’s next words.

“You haven’t earned it yet.”

It takes a few minutes for the words to penetrate the haze of pleasure Tucker’s in. What they mean.

“What,” Tucker pauses, tries to catch his breath. “What do I gotta do?”

The hum of approval Wash makes in response to his question makes him sigh.

“Stay silent,” Wash says. “Five minutes. Don’t make a fucking sound. Keep that smart-ass mouth closed, and maybe, _maybe_ I’ll change my mind.”

Tucker glances at the clock, watches the readout tick to 4:12. Closes his mouth. Clenches his teeth.

Wash’s grip on Tucker’s hip adjusts, and Tucker has only a moment to think Oh, fuck.

What before was slow, lingering, dragging thrusts goes sharp, goes quick and precise, a punishing rhythm. The kind of rhythm Wash takes when he’s been thinking about him, about him and Kai all day and they don’t even make it to the bedroom, and fuck he can’t be thinking about that now. Not with Wash driving in and out of him, with Wash fucking him like it’s a race, and Tucker’s supposed to stay quiet.

Wash said he wouldn’t make this easy on him and he doesn’t.

Tucker clenches his teeth so hard they hurt, fights the urge to writhe, to move away, to move closer. His whole body jolts as Wash’s fingers curl relentlessly against his prostate, electricity sending sparks through his body and forget a sound, he wants to scream.

Wash twists his fingers, wrist rotating, and that’s not fucking _fair_ , that’s unfair advantage, vibration builds in his chest, bubbling up and Tucker frantically shoves it down against the feeling of bright pleasure, the carnal stretch and—

He’s not gonna make it, there’s no way he’s gonna make it there’s no way—

The sharp slap against his ass is a godsend, melting his spine and Tucker’s mouth falls open in a soundless gasp. A lifeline, some smarter, not-fucked-out section of Tucker’s brain recognizes. Wash helping him out. The tension falls out of him, bones liquefying and the moans fighting their way up his throat dissipating like smoke.

Tucker goes limp, the sting zinging through his nervous system in a confused jumble of pain-pleasure, counterpoint to the pleasure of Wash’s fingers thrusting, making it easier, easier to take, easier to endure in silence..

A second spank falls, right in the same spot as the first, oversensitive, and Tucker kind of wants to cry it’s so good.

He sinks into the mattress, loose and overwhelmed and endorphins rushing, floating in a sea of pleasure and Wash, in so good. Tucker let’s go and just feels, just lets it happen, gasping, let’s himself drift.

The clock ticks 4:17 and Wash slides his fingers free, rubbing comforting circles against his hip bones, drags his palm soothingly across the slightly reddened skin of the slap earlier.

“Color?” Wash asks.

Tucker pants into his pillow soundlessly, tries to catch his breath. Swallows. Wash waits patiently, still rubbing those soothing circles into his skin.

“Green,” Tucker whispers. “Just…green.”

“Good,” Wash says. He smoothes a gentle hand through Tucker’s hair and Tucker sighs under the touch. “Now. Don’t move.”

Tucker’s vaguely aware of the sound of Wash stripping the glove off and chucking it in the trash, the sound of a drawer opening and closing. The sound of fabric shifting, and fuck, he forgot Wash was still clothed this whole time. The snick of the lube bottle opening.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Wash says.

Tucker might be a little embarrassed by the sigh of contentment and relief he makes, but yeah. No.

Wash gets back on the bed, setting himself up behind him. He groans quietly as he spreads lube on his condom-wrapped dick and Tucker winces in sympathy. Guy has been ignoring himself a long time. Oh well. Tucker will make it up to him another time. Another time when he can think properly.

“You ready for the third rule, now, Tucker?” Wash asks.

Tucker nods. At this point, he’ll take anything. Wash gathers Tucker’s wrists, presses them to the small of his back, stacked, held in his grip. Tucker bites his lips, face pressed to the sheets, tries to be patient. To wait.

“Okay, third rule,” Wash says, voice gone dark. “If you want something? You have to ask for it.”

Tucker hums when he feels Wash’s cock, pressing against his entrance but not in yet. Only barely remembers not to sway into it, against him.

“You’ll have to convince me,” Wash growls, and presses in.

The moan in tandem, Tucker from the stretch, from the rightness, from finally. God, he’s been waiting so long for this, been needing this.

After a moment Wash starts to move. Tucker groans (he can, he’s allowed now) when he recognizes the pace from earlier, the steady, slow thrusts, but it’s not an unhappy groan. It’s good, they’re good, he could have this forever. Those insistent, firm, inexorable thrusts, neverending, keeping his high but not high enough.

Wash presses deep and grinds there, hips against Tucker’s ass until Tucker swears, shudders against him. Starts the pace again.

Tucker loses himself in it. He’s got nothing to hold on to. Nothing he can say. Nowhere he can move. And Wash. Just. Keeps. Fucking. Him.

Slowly.

“I’m baaack!” Kai calls. There’s a soft sound of the front door closing. “Guys? You home?”

“In here,” Wash calls. Like everything’s normal. Like he isn’t fucking Tucker so hard his teeth clack together with each thrust.

“What’s u—Ooh,” Kai’s voice says from the direction of the doorway.

Tucker really would like to raise his head to look at her, to say hello, but he can’t. He just can’t.

“Welcome back,” Wash says.

“Somebody getting punished?” Kai asks, walking into the room. She leans back and closes the door behind her. “What’d he do?”

“You can probably guess,” Wash replies lightly.

Kaikaina hums thoughtfully, boosts herself up to sit on the desk.

“Mind if I watch?”

“Help yourself,” Wash says.

“Ooo, yes, don’t mind if I—“

“Behave,” Wash warns.

Kai grins and settles down quietly to watch, hands clasped on her knee.

Wash turns his attention back to Tucker, thrusts turning even harder, even more brutal and not a hair faster. Tucker grinds his teeth in frustration, the need, formerly banked, swelling within him. Probably showing off for Kai. Probably trying to break him. Probably both.

But as good, as good and drawn out as it is, he can’t take it anymore.

“Wash,” he manages to get out. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Wash asks.

“Just…” Tucker swallows. “ _Faster_.”

Wash laughs, a low pleased rumbled, leans forward to drop a kiss on Tucker’s spine.

“Since you ask so nice.”

It isn’t instant, like before. A slow build, a slow increase in tempo, from slow, hard, sharp, getting faster, the thrusts falling closer and closer together until the headboard is rattling against the wall. Tucker struggles feebly, wrists locked in Wash’s grip, and it only makes it better. Can’t get closer, can’t get away. Just have to take it, held down and helpless against his own desire.

Wash fucks him hard, and fast, hips pumping against his and Tucker groans. He’s so hard, precome dripping, smearing against his thighs. The smell of sex, of sweat is everywhere, thick in his nostrils and Tucker breaths deep. Loses himself in it, hands himself over to Wash. Wash will take care of it. Wash will take care of him.

He’s close, he’s so close, and not close enough. Nowhere near close enough and it’s been so long.

“Do you think I could make you come like this?” Wash hisses in his ear. “I haven’t even touched your cock, and you’re almost begging for it. Do you think you could?”

Tucker groans, shakes his head. They’ve never done that before. Never managed it. Not with just a cock in his ass. A couple times with Kaikaina playing with his nipples while Wash went after his prostrate. And hadn’t that been the sweetest torture, that one had had him flying high all day. Had him floating and pleased, dopey and affectionate with Kai and Wash laughing against his hair and wondering aloud if they’d broken him for good. But this isn’t like that. He’s not sure he can—

He wants to though, god, whatever Wash wants, he’ll try, he’ll try for all he thinks he can’t, Wash has to say—

“No,” Wash says, “Not doing that today. Today you’re going to come easy, right when I say you can. I won’t make you try to do that, not today. Today you’re going to beg for it.”

Tucker nods, frantic, relief spiraling through him. He’s been on edge, on edge and wanting more for so long it’s like a living thing under his skin. It feels like his skin’s too small for all the want, all the desire held underneath it, twining and convoluted, twisting in on itself to make room for more, just waiting, just waiting for the word to let go. He’s dizzy from it, licks his lips to help clear his head. Wash shifts behind him, adjusting the angle, pushing his hips just right, searching until he finds it, Tucker’s arching in bliss as his thrusts fall against his prostate and Tucker’s mouth is open, his eyes are closed against the pleasure lights behind his eyes and he’s begging before he knows it.

“Oh, Ohh, fuck, Wash, _please_. Please, Wash, please.”

“Fuck, look at you,” Wash murmurs, “Look at you, Tucker, doing so good, I knew you could. Knew you would. ”

Tucker knows he’s begging, knows he’s pleading for just that little bit more, that little bit to send him over the edge, for all he doesn’t know what he’s saying at this point. Wash’s hips snap against his, the sound of flesh hitting flesh loud in his ears and Tucker doesn’t know what he’s saying but he needs it—

Wash drops his hands from where they’d been holding Tucker’s against his back, reaches around his hip and finally, blessedly, wraps his fingers around Tucker’s cock. Tucker nearly cries in relief.

“Wash,” Tucker whispers. “ _Wash_ —“

“C’mon, Tucker,” Wash pants in his ear. “Yeah, go on, you can.”

Wash’s hand strips his cock three more times and that’s it.

Tucker comes so hard his vision whites out.

The first thing he becomes aware of are lips on the back of his neck. Wash leaning over him, draped over his body, grounding him, but not making him take his weight. Lips, tender on the back of his neck.

“F—Fuck, Wash,” he says. Wash hums, happy, approving, rests his cheek against his back. “That was awesome.”

Wash pulls out and Tucker winces. He’s not sure how long they lay like that, Wash draped against his spine, pressing soft kisses across his shoulders while Tucker gets his breath back. It feels like forever. It’s probably only a minute. (He could live forever, just in this minute.)

Finally, Wash sits up, runs a palm down Tucker’s side, sits back on his haunches. Wash pulls off the condom, chucks it in the direction of the trash. He still hasn’t come yet.

Wash maneuvers him over onto his back, hands gentle as they direct his sore joints. Tucker sighs, lets his head fall back into the pillow.

“Color?” Wash asks.

Tucker snorts.

“M’good, Wash.”

Wash massages the muscles of his shoulders and Tucker groans in relief.

“Better?” Wash asks, and Tucker knows he’s not asking about Tucker’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Tucker says, closing his eyes. It’s quiet inside his head, now. The buzzing itching has stopped.

“Good,” Wash says, dropping a kiss on his lips.

He gets up and digs under the bed, for the crate of bottled water and extracts one. He twists off the cap (and Tucker watches, eyes heavy-lidded, because damn those hands. Those are some good hands, fuck) and leans over.

“C’mon,” he says. “Drink.”

Wash encourages him to sit up a bit, slides a hand back to support his neck. The warmth seeping from him to Tucker, that point of connection , is heavy, comforting. Tucker lets him hold him steady, drinks almost half the water bottle.

He glances down and, hey there, realizes Wash is still hard.

“You didn’t come yet,” Tucker says, feebly trying to get up the energy to reach for Wash’s cock.

“Stop that,” Wash laughs, dodging out of the way. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I worry about it?”

They turn to look at Kai, still perched on top of the desk and squirming with excitement.

“Still got your clothes on?” Wash asks her. “Thought you might have started yourself by now.”

“I thought about it,” Kai says, grinning at him. “…But you didn’t tell me to take them off yet.”

Wash kind of freezes, eyes going dark again.

Other parts of Wash are interested too. Tucker would know. He’s got a good sightline, here, with Wash hovering over him.

“Go,” Tucker says, headbutting Wash’s shoulder. “Go on, I’m good.”

Wash hesitates.

“I’m fine,” Tucker says. “I’m gonna nap, okay? Really fucking boring. You don’t have to watch over me for that. Go fuck Kai blind.”

“Hmnn, yes, please,” Kaikaina hums from her spot perched on the desk. “Come fuck me blind. _Sir_.”

Tucker takes the water bottle out of Wash’s hands. In case the guy had any doubts, and hey, Tucker’s going to want the rest of that when he wakes up.

“Want me to sleep it off on the couch?” Tucker asks, grinning a bit. He’s almost sorry he won’t be conscious to watch, but…yeah. Naptime.

“No,” Wash says, voice gone low and dangerous again. “We won’t be using the bed.”

Wash kisses him, hard, one more time before turning to Kai. She grins at him as he stalks toward her, pushing between her thighs and winding his long fingers in her hair.

The last thing Tucker sees before he drops off is Kaikaina wrapping her legs around Wash, Wash curling one hand around to support her ass and picking her up. They’re still kissing as Wash kicks the door open, carries her out into the living room. The door shuts behind them.

“My life is fucking awesome,” Tucker murmurs to himself as he drifts off to sleep. “Fuck yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> QueSeraAwesome.tumblr.com


End file.
